by kimberley veart
You can
feel distance in the delays on a telephone call. In the resounding, echoing
quiet. If you count the seconds you can count the miles.
To fill
the void, you talk and I talk. We are drowning each other out, words descending
into white noise.
We are
forced to abandon this futile attempt at communication.
"Can
you hear me?"
"Can
you see me?"
We ask
our computer screens with only our fuzzily frantic video reflection staring
back at us in reply. Skype says that our connection has failed. No kidding.
I live
three days in one, calculating the time zones. Never has mathematics had such a
practical application in my life, except perhaps to keep track of exactly how
many paydays it will be before I can afford an airfare.
We
cross the days off our calendars and create ever more optimistic countdowns.
For somewhere on the horizon, endlessly drifting off into the distance is the
reunion.
We've
become excellent imaginary planners, detailing hypothetical scenarios and
hoping they will eventually become our reality.
While
we wait we live in the memories, tracing familiar paths and going over old
jokes as the time between then and now stretches out.
I miss
the way our voices mix together, the harmonies and the laughter.
I miss
being on the same page, same wavelength, same continent as you.
Let's
just be together again.
Soon.
Okay?
related posts.
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related posts.
somebody that i used to know by kimberley veart
chasing ghosts by kimberley veart
